Oh, how I miss you, Italy

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painting by me, Carolyn Dennis-Willingham

I miss the language (I’ve forgotten most of what I’ve studied)

I miss the people who say what they mean and mean what they say.

I miss the culture, the arts, the music on the streets.

I miss the architecture and the oldness of things.

I miss the food with its all-fresh ingredients.

I miss the incredible chalk paintings on the streets of Firenze (Florence).

And more.

Wait for me, Italy. I’ll be back!

 

The One Hundred Languages of Children

An amazing inspirational poem about children, the mistakes we make in teaching them, and how they can learn to become their true selves.

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photo credit

THE ONE HUNDRED LANGUAGES OF CHILDREN

The child is made of one hundred.

The child has a hundred languages a hundred hands a hundred thoughts a hundred ways of thinking of playing, of speaking.

A hundred always a hundred ways of listening of marvelling of loving a hundred joys for singing and understanding a hundred worlds to discover a hundred worlds to invent a hundred worlds to dream.

The child has a hundred languages (and a hundred hundred more) but they steal ninety-nine.

The schools and the culture separate the head from the body.

They tell the child: to think without hands to do without head to listen and not to speak to understand without joy to love and to marvel only at Easter and Christmas.

They tell the child: to discover the world already there and of the hundred they steal ninety-nine.

They tell the child: that work and play reality and fantasy science and imagination sky and earth reason and dream are things that do not belong together.

And thus they tell the child that the hundred is not there.

The child says: No way. The hundred is there.

Loris Malaguzzi